


How Big, How Blue, How Beautiful

by superagentwolf



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Depression, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Paralysis, Physical Disability, Physical Therapy, Quadriplegia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-13
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-12-14 16:41:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11787201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superagentwolf/pseuds/superagentwolf
Summary: They go on a simple mission- catch and return. It's not the mission that does it, though- it's after. After, in the most serene of settings, when she didn't even think that she could be hurt.





	1. The Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A gift for wombatking, who you can find on tumblr. I hope you like it.

She’s just pulling on a pair of sweatpants when the alarm sounds.

“Oh, come on,” she groans, hoping it’s a threat she can punch.

She- _they_ \- had plans for the day. Not that she knows what they are. Babs had been very secretive the day before in a way only the Bat Kids can be. Smiling, patient, yet unyielding. Tim hadn’t given anything up, either, although he may not have known to begin with.

She’d even tried to ask Bart, knowing Babs would never confide in him any secret.

The alert is insistent. She grudgingly accepts her fate and pulls on her uniform, hopping into her shoes as she leaves her room.

“What is it?” she asks, passing Jaime.

“Not sure,” he says, hair half-wet from a shower, “I’m betting it’s a prison break.”

“Gross! _Why?_ It’s five hundred degrees outside.”

“Exactly.”

She catches Babs pulling her hood on, already waiting for the mission. It makes her smile, seeing the red hair deftly pulled away and under the mask of a superhero. She’s always impressed by how little time it takes Babs to get changed. She wonders if that’s a thing Batman trains them to do, too.

“ _Team, we have a prison break._ ”

Cassie shoots Jaime a baleful glare. He isn’t watching, too busy holding a hand out to Bart, who grumbles and passes a bag of something crunchy over.

“Thanks, Nightwing,” Babs says, glancing at Tim as he enters the room, “Anything else?”

“ _It should be pretty straightforward,_ ” he says, “ _Catch and return. You should have the rest of the day free._ ”

“Yeah, unless the prison melts in this heat,” Cassie mutters.

The half-smile she catches on Babs’ lips is worth it.

“Let’s go, team,” Tim says, leading the way to the jet, “Quick and easy.”

-

 _Quick and easy my ass,_ Cassie thinks. The only part of that statement that was even half-true was ‘easy’. The villains aren’t the hard part here. The summer is.

The sun bares down on them with a vengeance. Babs pushes a strand of red hair away from her forehead, huffing in annoyance. She’s sprawled on the ground, glaring at Clayface.

“Just what I wanted to do on a Friday afternoon,” she groans, rolling aside as the villain barrels towards her.

“Heads up!” Cassie crows, flying past, fist ready. The only good thing about this mission so far has been the punchability of their adversaries.

Normally, she wouldn’t be too excited to get goopy in the middle of an already unbearably hot day. For Babs, though…well. She’s willing to go a little above and beyond.

“Watch your back!”

“Hey! Careful, Impulse!” Babs says, cape fluttering in the wind as the younger boy rushes past.

They’re a good team but they’re fighting a little bit messy. Honestly, the roundup is busy work- just a diversion on a sweltering summer day. An unfortunate diversion, given the plans Babs had probably painstakingly made. She does that kind of thing. They take the mission as seriously as they can, though, knowing that every day they’re proving themselves as members of the Justice League.

It’s just hard to be serious when it takes all of ten minutes to knock out the bad guys.

“You good?” Cassie asks, watching Clayface get hauled away. Babs blinks, her eyes more sapphire in comparison to Cassie’s greyish ones. She looks bemused, but she usually does. It’s another bat-kid trait.

Almost like they forget they’re kids sometimes. Babs is just so darned adult-y. Not that Cassie doesn’t like it. It’s the stability she craves. Besides, Babs isn’t like one of the adults that never listens to teenagers. She’s like…the cool aunt.

Except they’re dating, so not really.

“I’m fine,” Babs assures. It only takes a small smile to give Cassie the reassurance she’s looking for- and a telltale skip of her heart. She is grateful for her girlfriend every time Babs smiles. She’s grateful for her a lot, actually.

“Hey! There’s a lake!” Jaime yells from nearby, popping out from behind a tree. He actually looks excited.

Tim shakes his head but wanders towards the others anyways. Cassie can see a lot of the same qualities in the bat kids- serious but witty, usually natural leaders with the exception of their individual social preferences. Except she would never date Tim. Ever.

She shudders just thinking about it. He’s nice, sure, but Babs is _nice_.

“Wow,” she says, attention momentarily captured by the scene before her.

Glittering and blue, the lake lies at their feet enticingly. The grass is green around them, trees and bushes dotting the landscape. It looks like a tiny paradise. If she were the type, she’d probably take a picture. Babs is more like that, though- she takes great pictures, mostly because of her journalistic interest but also because she’s just good at stuff. Interesting stuff.

Bart is a blur of color already flying past her and into the water, somehow wearing swim trunks, his uniform piled on the grass. Jaime crows with excitement, shouting as he plunges in. They splash messily, two peas in a very strange pod.

“I guess that’s that,” Tim shakes his head, looking around, “if we-,”

“No ‘ifs’!” Babs shouts, throwing herself in. Cassie gapes for a moment, delightfully surprised by the sleek, black one-piece Babs is wearing. She shouldn’t be surprised, really. They _had_ been interrupted in the middle of an otherwise normal day to come round up escaped prisoners.

_So I guess she wanted to go swimming._

Now that she knows, she can fully appreciate it. It _would_ be like Babs to figure out the weather ahead of time- probably days ahead- and anticipate Cassie’s unwillingness to do much in the heat. She had probably even planned a picnic. _I have the best girlfriend._

“What do you think?” Cassie asks Tim, grinning. She already knows her answer but she also knows Tim struggles, sometimes. He isn’t quite as natural of a leader as his other bat family.

She tries to be inclusive. It’s important to her that they’re a team. A family. Without that sense of normalcy, being a superhero would be much harder.

“I can’t stop them if they’ve already gone in,” he says, a tiny smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Go ahead. I’ll stash our stuff in the jet.”

She knows she can get dry after. Just a bit of flying and sun. That doesn’t mean she won’t make it easier, though. She pulls off her shoes, coiling her lasso around them. She tears her bracelets off and slips them inside her shoes. She wonders if Babs had picked out a bathing suit, too. Feels a little sorry that their plans aren’t really theirs anymore.

Although if she’s honest, Babs probably has a backup.

“Come on! The water’s great!”

Babs laughs, the sound bright and beautiful, and Cassie laughs right back. She wants to say thank you. Explain that she knows what Babs wanted to do, now. Still, they’re in the odd stage where being together and being a team intersect in weird places. Cassie may be brash but she’s not going to pressure Babs into a sappy public display.

 _What to do?_ She wants to demonstrate exactly how excited she is. There’s a small cliff, three stories high, at the edge of the lake. The river burbles peacefully past it, trees and greenery enclosing the small space. It’s the perfect place to dive from.

One thing she’s always admired about Barbara is her ability. She is human, yet her training and strength is up to par with many of her super-powered friends. An attack from an enemy is easily dodged, her movements flowing naturally from years of gymnastics and even more time in the nurturing brutality of Batman’s regimen. Babs is intimidating as a person no matter what.

Any chance she gets, Cassie likes to show off. Maybe she’s impulsive- she knows she enjoys a good fight, the rush of combat and adrenaline fueling her active mind. But it’s more than impulse that drives her to dive from the cliff edge and into the water. It’s the hot day, the cool lake, the sound of Babs laughing and the idea that she can make her girlfriend smile, say _show-off_ without really meaning it.

The sun reflects off the water, glittering and reflecting in her eyes. She inhales slowly. The water parts around her, pleasant and cool, sparkling like glass gems. Her eyes are closed.

It is sudden, some force hitting her like a concrete wall. At first, she thinks it’s the water- that maybe she landed wrong, is experiencing some sort of bad belly flop. Her head snaps back, though, pressure flaring in a single, painful burst. Her forehead burns and she thinks _were there rocks,_ trying to feel whether there’s blood or water. Her mind is a haze of low panic, adrenaline rushing in to fill the spaces. She has to force herself to think in even paces, not breathing in and she takes stock.

She realizes that she can’t turn herself over. Her mind goes through the motions- shock, she thinks, from the impact and the pain. It doesn’t explain why she can’t move, though.

She can hear voices from underwater. Distant but so frustratingly close. She hasn’t run out of air, miraculously. Jaime yells something.

“ _Now that was a splash!_ ”

Her heart breaks a little when she hears Babs laugh, the sound carried through the very water holding her in place. Even the lake loves her, of course, holding even the echo of Babs’ existence as long as possible. She wonders if she will ever be able to hear it again- if this is a nightmare, or if she's dead and just hasn't realized yet.

_No. I can't be dead. Not from something so small._

“ _Cassie?_ ”

No more laughter. She hates that it stopped. That she made it stop. Still, she wants Babs- wants her close more than ever, wants to say _help, please, I don’t know what’s wrong_. She wants to be reassured for once instead of standing side-by-side. She wants comfort even though she doesn’t know what’s wrong.

It can’t be bad, after all. They’ve fought so many villains, had so many terrible fights. It can’t end like this. Not on a hot summer day in the comforting arms of nature. Not when she and Babs have plans, when they have so many things left to do, when the team isn't entirely part of the Justice League. They're only kids.

“ _Cassie!_ ”

The voice is closer. She has enough breath left. She fights the urge to call out, knowing she has to wait. It kills her to wait.

There are hands at her shoulders- familiar, comforting, steady hands. The sun assaults her eyes all too soon and she blinks, gathering a steadying breath. She blinks up into the blue eyes she’d just seen five minutes before. This time, they’re worried.

“I c- I can’t move,” Cassie gasps, half out of breath and half shocked. As soon as she says it, the reality gets worse. _It can’t be._ _This can’t be. It’s not happening._

“Jaime!” Babs shouts, instincts visibly kicking in.

 _She may not be the leader,_ Cassie thinks, unfocused, _but she talks like one._ In control. Part of her is already comforted, feeling safe with the immediate closeness and strength that is Babs. She barely notices when Jaime splashes over, helping Babs get her out of the water.

“What is it- what’s wrong? Babs-,”

“Get to Tim, fast. Have him call for help.”

She feels the brush of wind as he leaves, unable and unwilling to turn and watch him leave. The leaves barely cover the sunlight, leaving cracks that filter brightly onto her face.

“All right. You’re going to be fine,” Babs says, soothing.

“But I-,”

“You’ll be fine,” Babs repeats, sure, “We’ll help you. Okay?”

Cassie breathes in slowly, trying to gather her thoughts. Jaime is at her elbow, barely leaning over her, serious. He’s always been the most lost out of them, she thinks, without a true mentor to guide him. He had taken a while to come around but there are moments she can see him finding support in the team. This is, terrifyingly, one of those moments.

Babs has her fingers at Cassie’s head, gentle, probing down the back of her skull and towards her neck.

“How is it?”

The fingers pause.

One thing about them that she likes is the trust they have. They trust each other and know each other well enough not to lie. Not to feel like they have to lie. Babs would never lie to her.

“I’m not sure,” she says, “Not good. We’ll get you help.”

She is so relieved that Babs doesn’t lie. She appreciates the truth. She also appreciates the fact that Babs doesn’t look terrified.

And if she isn’t scared, then maybe it isn’t so bad, after all.

-

They follow the ambulance.

Babs almost asks to ride with them but she knows all too well that they need to do their job. She can barely bring herself to let go of Cassie’s hand, smiling reassuringly, _don’t worry, we’re right behind you. I’m right behind you._

It’s one of the many hospitals with small rooms to hide superheroes in. Bruce’s patronage means that the secret rooms are dotted throughout the hospital, a small team of nurses and doctors always on rotation to keep their patients’ identities safe. They move easily, a ballet of informed individuals dedicated to keeping the protectors protected.

They are told to wait.

“She passed out from shock on the way over,” the doctor says, short black hair tucked behind her ear, “but she isn’t in any immediate danger. We’re running a few tests to determine the extent of her injuries.”

“Will she be okay?”

The woman pauses. Babs knows that part of her has already acknowledged the reality of the situation. She knows what she felt when her hands were on Cassie’s neck. She knows the signs are textbook and obvious: inability to move, a dive into unknown water…rocks.

Such a simple thing, to take down Wonder Girl herself.

She’d imagined it before, on dark nights or when she was trying to convince herself not to pursue Cassie. _Someone always gets hurt,_ she had told herself. Death is a reality for superheroes. It is a reality in the League- the holos and statues hidden in secret places, dedicated to the humans the world would never know. Heroes are not infallible. She- completely human- knows this most of all. There are no slow deaths of old age in the League. There is only sacrifice.

“We simply don’t know yet,” the doctor says, clearly deciding on the least distressing answer.

Cassie’s mother shows up after a while. Tim is gone, probably talking to Bruce, and Bart had run off to burn his energy and fear. Jaime is the only one that stays, quiet but supportive. He is at Babs’ side when Dr. Sandsmark arrives.

“Where is she?”

Her voice, at the nurses’ station, is what snaps Babs out of her reverie. She looks up, somehow comforted by the woman, familiar glasses and dark brown hair an island of reality in the white walls of the hospital.

“Helena.”

“Barbara? What happened?”

“We’re not sure yet,” she says, repeating back the doctor’s words, “we were at a lake and Cassie dove in. I think she may have hit her head on something.”

“Concussion?”

Babs pauses. She could say yes because on top of whatever else, Cassie probably has at least a minor concussion. Dr. Sandsmark is smart, though- and it would be rude and disrespectful to lie. It’s Cassie’s mother.

“Maybe. Something else…I think it might be something else, too.”

The woman draws back a fraction. Pulling away instinctively, from bad news and the messenger. All Babs can think is that _I have to ease her in_. She doesn’t want it to be a shock. Doesn’t want that kind of impact. If she can lessen the blow…

“Sit,” Jaime says. She’s not sure when he got to her side. “We’ve been here a while already. I’ll get you some coffee.”

It’s direction. She clings to it, taking the suggestion as an order. It’s all she can do to follow the leader now. She suddenly wishes someone else were here- Bruce or Diana or anyone, any of the adults and heroes she trusts. They would be able to tell her what to do, she thinks, show her how to help. They’re mentors for a reason. Right now, she needs it. She needs someone telling her what to do to make this better.

They sit and her coffee gets cold halfway through. She can’t bring herself to drink more than half. She can barely hold herself up, keeping a mask of level worry on her face. No panic. The last thing anyone needs is for her to be panicked.

“Mrs. Sandsmark?”

“Doctor,” the woman corrects, blinking as she does. It is instinct. It’s the only thing they have left.

“I need to speak to you about Cassie. Why don’t we-,”

“Whatever you have to say, we all need to hear,” Helena says, firm.

Need and want are two very different things. Babs wants to scream, already knowing what she’s going to hear. She wants to refuse, go back, fix it. Make it right.

Jaime’s hand slips into hers as easily as if it was already there. For the little comfort and support it offers, she’s grateful. She’s grateful that someone on the team is here, with her, sharing the great and terrible burden. She wouldn’t wish it on anyone but it makes it easier to bear.

“…we can tell that Cassie hit something. Probably rocks. X-rays confirmed that her C4 vertebrae was dislocated, probably from the pressure on her neck. The impact crushed her spinal cord- it was almost immediate. I’m sorry. Your daughter is quadriplegic, Dr. Sandsmark. Paralysis from the shoulders down. We-,”

“Can I see her?”

Babs is only half listening. Her ears are ringing. The words echo, bouncing around like nightmares in the dark. _Her neck could have snapped._ She can still see the dive, Cassie a perfect arc of tan skin and streaming, blonde hair. The way the water had parted, just like everything else, giving way to a powerful force of energy and brightness.

_Quadriplegic._

It isn’t a word you’d use to describe anyone in the League. There is no room for in-between on the League. There is only fighting or dead.

As of this moment, Cassie is dead.

“No,” she says, vaguely aware of the others lapsing into silence, “She’s strong. This won’t stop her. There are ways, aren’t there? A wheelchair, or-,”

“Yes. There are ways. It will be difficult,” the doctor says, looking between her and Cassie’s mother, “and it’ll take a lot out of her.”

Her mind is already racing. _Articles,_ she thinks, _and pictures._ She will have to shove everything down Cassie’s throat to show her that this isn’t the end. She will have to remind her every day that this is not it. That being in the League is only black and white because nothing has ever been gray yet. She will have to prove to Cassie that this is not a death sentence.

This is not an end.

“She’s asleep right now,” the doctor says, “and we’re letting her sleep under careful monitoring. We want to be sure that it’s safe. You can go in, but please try not to wake her just yet.”

Cassie’s mother stands but pauses, turning to Barbara. There is a question written on her face.

“I should tell the others,” Babs says, “They can visit her later, when she wakes up.”

She doesn’t say she’ll come back as soon as the others know. There’s an emergency overnight bag in the jet and in her room back at headquarters. She keeps them prepared for emergencies. This, she thinks, qualifies.

Jaime is on his phone already when the doctor and Helena walk away. He speaks quietly, probably asking the others to come because he knows Barbara doesn’t really want to leave. She can’t make her feet move, take her away from Cassie. Cassie, lying in a hospital bed, suddenly no longer able to lift her arms or legs.

“I can tell them,” Jaime offers, “You should be with her.”

“No,” she says quietly, “I should tell them. Besides…Dr. Sandsmark needs time with Cassie.”

They wait in the cafeteria for the others.

She watches people go by- some patients- their plastic trays filled in tiny boxes. Families looking tired, some relieved. People smiling and thankful. Injuries- casts on limbs, people wheeling IV drips along with them, others moving slowly with bandages over surgery scars.

Cassie wouldn’t be the same, even here. Babs feels the weight of reality come down hard, pushing at her shoulders. She wills herself not to give in, reminding herself that she has to talk to the others. Has to let them know.

“How is it?” Tim asks, settling into his seat as Bart stands by the table.

“She hit her head in the water,” she starts, measured, “it injured her C4. Her neck- there was so much pressure it crushed her spinal cord.” They’re clinical words; the only thing keeping her sane is the distance they offer.

“But she’s going to be okay,” Bart says, “they can-,”

She wonders in that moment if spinal cord injuries are different in his time. A tiny flash of hope kindles before she reminds herself that’s not how things work. Bart had come for a reason, and it wasn’t this.

“No,” she corrects him, gentle, “Cassie’s paralyzed from the shoulders down. She’s quadriplegic. She won’t be able to move her arms or legs.”

She hates the indignity of it- not that anyone else deserves it more; it’s just that Cassie, with her strength and power and energy, has nothing that she loved now. She can no longer punch the bad guys, can’t roughhouse with the boys in the combat rooms. Of everyone, it is somehow most horrifying that it happened to her.

A summer day, a lake, and one bad dive.

“I let Bruce know what happened,” Tim says, “he’s getting her every bit of help he can.”

“Do the others know?”

“He was going to tell them. They…some may visit, soon.”

“Good. I’ll be here. You should all get back,” she says finally, rising from the table, “and be safe.”

If her voice cracks a little on the last bit, no one says anything about it.

She goes to Cassie’s room. The hallway seems to get longer as she walks down it, everything extending in a too-white tunnel of sterile disinfectants and the sound of machines. Her vision almost tunnels but she remembers the breathing exercises, counting and focusing the same way she would in a particularly bad fight.

She pauses outside the door. There’s a folder in a plastic bin on the wall. She knows it won’t have anything in it she doesn’t already know. Still, her fingers brush over the plate with the room number on it.

Cassie’s mother is at her side, meditative. She barely looks up to see Barbara enter, smoothing Cassie’s hair away from her face.

“I’ll be back,” she says. It could be for Cassie or for Barbara; she can’t tell.

She looks peaceful. It reminds her of nights they end up sleeping in the same bed, either too tired or unwilling to make the effort, still wearing shoes to be kicked off in the middle of the night. She wakes up in the middle of the night sometimes, traces of nightmares and straw clinging to her mind, finding solace in Cassie’s relaxed face and messy blonde hair.

“Hey,” she whispers, hesitating, taking Cassie’s hand, “I’m here.” _A hand that can’t hold mine back,_ she realizes.

Something like a sob catches in her throat. She clamps a hand over it, resorting to force to push it down. She can’t break down here. She will make time later, in a safe place, where she can let out the emotions boiling within her chest. For now, she pushes it away.

“I know you’re hurt, but I’m here. We’ll all be here, helping you, and I know you can do this- Cassie, I know you can, you’re strong. You’re so strong. You’ll learn how to fight, and we’ll learn with you.”

The silence floods back to fill the space after she speaks, a heart monitor beeping to keep time. It’s the non-silence of a quiet hospital where the tenants are all sleeping or halfway there. It smells like medicine and tears, anger and despair and joy constantly swirling in the air. She kind of hates it. She wants to be able to take Cassie home, to an environment they know and love. A place she’ll feel comfortable.

For now, she waits, holding Cassie’s hand and tuning out the world around them. She will bring her home soon.

 


	2. The Deep

Babs is there when she wakes up. For a minute, she thinks they’re back at headquarters- it was a bad dream, something brought on by the fight. Or maybe she did knock herself out in the water, everything after a bad dream.

She smiles as soon as she sees the familiar blue eyes. Almost says something, until she sees her mother on the other side of the bed. Confusion sets in. _Why is mom here…?_ She has so much work to do and they had agreed long ago, her mother practical enough to not come calling any time Cassie had a bad fight. Injury was a part of being a hero they’d both accepted.

“Cassie? How are you feeling?”

A doctor. She’s at the foot of the bed, clipboard in hand, patient and sympathetic.

It all seems a bit excessive but she guesses it’s the Bat’s doing. He’s always been extremely cautious. The League even has secret-keeping doctors, like some sort of underground spy organization. Kind of crazy, she thinks, although the League can never be too careful. After all, some heroes are very human.

“…strange,” she finally says, trying to decide how to describe it, “heavy. What did you give me?”

The doctor casts a glance at Cassie’s mother. She pauses, seeing something there. Cassie can only guess at what the exchange means. She knows her mother is a no-nonsense woman. She supposes the look might have been a warning to the doctor.

“You hit your head on something in the lake. Do you remember?”

“I remember…diving,” Cassie sighs, trying to decide what’s real and what’s not, “and I…I…"

“You dislocated your C4 vertebrae. What happened injured your spinal cord. Your friends told me you said you couldn’t move. Right now, you’re paraplegic. You won’t be able to move anything below your shoulders.”

_What?_

_No_ , she thinks, _that’s not right_. It can’t be. Not this- not being paralyzed, not losing control of her own body. Not being static, unable to lift or move or hit or walk or even-

“It’s okay,” Babs says, clearly worried and scared but determined, “we’ll be here for you. All of us.”

That scares her. If Babs is pledging her support, it means this is real. It means-

It means one stupid dive, one stupid move, has killed her. Just a hot day and a lake and she’s done, her end coming not in some grand fight against a global threat but at the rocky bottom of a body of water. Just her, taking off her bracelets because she’d wanted to be human and normal with Babs. Taking off her bulletproof jacket like an idiot, making the mistake of thinking it would be fine.

She knows better than most that her life is dangerous. Heroes either die or live long enough to end up on the wrong side of a fight. There is no time they’re not heroes- they are always their super identities, the regular ones really just a means to keep everyone else safe. Denying the power and ability you have as a hero means falling- inevitably being taken down by something that never should have been so dangerous.

All of this because she had thought it would be fine. Somewhere, deep down, she hadn’t believed she could be hurt.

And the world has just proven her wrong.

-

Jaime visits first. She’s not sure why she’s surprised. He’s always been attentive- it had taken him a while to come around, she knows, and then he’d been cautious. He has his reasons.

Still, he’s the first one to show up.

“I hate hospitals,” he says, hands in his blue hoodie.

“Me too,” she says drily, trying not to be aggravated by the fact that she can’t prop herself up. She has to lie there, looking up at him.

Maybe he notices because he pulls up a chair, trying to get to eye level.

“My grandmother on my father’s side was in the hospital once. She hated it. We wanted to bring her home,” he says, smirking, “but the doctors didn’t think it was a good idea.”

“What happened?”

“…we took her out. I think she knew- she knew being in the hospital wouldn’t do her any good. She needed to be at home, with us. Dad was scared at first. Thought he might be killing her by taking her home.”

“Did it? Kill her?” she whispers. She doesn’t want to know but the question comes out anyways.

“She didn’t have much time,” Jaime says, “and she spent it at home. I think that’s what matters. It mattered to her, at least.”

Cassie nods. She’s glad she’s not sick or close to death. All she has to do is work at it.

“It was my fault, a little,” he says suddenly.

“What?”

“We probably should have just gone home. I saw the lake, though-,”

“It’s not your fault,” she says, incredulous, “Bart would have found it if you hadn’t. Anyways, I think Babs was going to take me swimming. Even she might have been the one to point it out.”

“…somehow, I don’t think she would have,” Jaime says, half-laughing.

“Anyways, there’s no reason to be so gloomy,” she continues, “I’ll get better. I work harder than half the people I know, anyways. You all know I’m a gym rat!”

He pauses in mid-breath, mouth open to say something. She can see some of the light in his expression dim, restrained by something. He leans back in his chair, considering.

“Cass…I don’t know if-,”

“Wanna make a bet? I’ll be rich by the end of this,” she teases, heart beating hard in her chest, “I mean, you can doubt all you want, but I _did_ win a race against Tim that one time.”

She wants to ask him to say yes. To help her out. She needs the team’s support now more than ever.

Jaime nods, looking down at his hands. When he rises, she finds herself wishing she could rise with him. The frustration mounts another fraction of an inch.

“We’ll be with you,” he says, “whenever you need us.”

-

Bart hesitates just outside the door. She can see the shadow he makes.

She’s not sure if she wants to reassure him or turn him away. She’s also not sure which she needs at the moment. Everything has become uncertain; all she can do is live minute by minute. She may be used to living energetically but this unknown sense of suspension feels wrong. It’s like she’s stuck in place, watching the world rotate around her, unable to get up and join the revolution.

“You’re awake,” he says, a little loud as usual before he checks himself, “Sorry. I was hoping I wouldn’t wake you up.”

“You didn’t,” she reminds him, raising her eyebrows.

He hesitates at the side of the bed, shifting from foot to foot. It makes her antsy. She almost mirrors the movement, instinct prompting her to tap her foot or fingers, but there is no reaction. It makes a thread of panic rise in her throat. She swallows it, trying to ground herself in their conversation.

“I, uh- I’m bad at this,” he says, “I mean- I mean I should have noticed, it’s not like I haven’t- I should have been-,”

“Bart-,”

“I can’t believe we didn’t notice and I just- I mean, that’s the first rule of swimming in a strange place, there could have been anything in that lake and I should have checked, we should have checked it first, I should have done something- I should have been faster,” he says, one breath strung out like his nerves.

“Bart. You’re the fastest human in the world,” Cassie reminds him, shaking her head, “and it wouldn’t have helped.”

“But maybe-,”

“Hey, I’m the one in the bed,” she says, “and anyways, I’ll get better.”

“You will?” he looks hopeful. She remembers that he’s technically a kid, despite all he’s seen and been through. There are things he looks for- support, reassurance. As much as he’s independent, there are times he leans towards adults in his life.

“Yeah,” she says, “I’ll work really hard and get through physical therapy faster than anyone ever has before. I can get better. I’ll show them all,” she adds, fiery.

“That’s- great!” he exclaims, excited, “Oh, man- you’re gonna do great, I know it, you even beat Tim that one time!”

“That’s right,” she snickers, “you’ll see.”

She’s happy to provide reassurance. She’s not a weak patient in need of motivation. She knows she can fight this, the numbness and heaviness. She will push it off just like she could push off an elephant.

She smiles a little, thinking that her teammates are the ones that need support instead of her. They’re all great, she thinks, but sometimes tragic. She has always been of the opinion that it’s better not to make yourself a tragic hero. Her story has always been one of triumph and strength. That won’t change.

She won’t let it.

-

“I can try-,”

“Cass, you just woke up two days ago. You had a mild concussion. Take it slow,” Babs says, “you don’t want to self-sabotage.”

“Fine,” Cassie says, pretending to pout. There is a tray of food before her, suspended on greenish-gray plastic.

She’s gotten away with saying she’s not hungry before, accepting juice and water. Now, however, they’re making sure she eats.

And eating requires movement.

“Come on. You know you’ll like it,” Babs smirks, “being fed like a pampered queen.”

“Shut up.”

She laughs anyways, propped up carefully in her bed. The food is terrible but it’s at least food. She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t hungry before. She was just being stubborn. _Hard head,_ she can hear Babs saying, tapping her forehead.

“You know, I think Dr. Ansar is coming by later today to talk about moving you.”

“…mvfn?”

“Chew your food,” Babs chuckles, but the light doesn’t reach her eyes. She’s serious.

If anyone has been normal so far, it’s been Babs. She hadn’t made any grand declarations or apologies when Cassie had woken up. All she did was be there, supporting, a constant well of strength and joy for Cassie to draw from.

“Moving where?”

“I don’t know. Maybe a facility.”

“Facility? What, like a nursing home?”

“No, Cass,” Babs snorts, “not a nursing home.”

Someone knocks on the door. Babs glances at her, questioning. _Do you want to talk?_ Cassie suspects she knows who it is, a silhouette outlined on the other side. She nods and Babs gets up, opening the door.

“Tim,” Babs says, half surprised and half cautious.

“Hey,” Cassie says, not quite sure how to continue, “uh…hi.”

_Smooth._

“How are you doing?”

“Better,” she says, grinning, “and they’ll be relocating me soon, so I can get back on track to beating this _and_ supervillains.”

Tim looks at Babs. Cassie feels a spark of annoyance- _she’s not my mother or my keeper, why are you looking at her?_ It’s not like she bumped her head that hard.

“Cassie…we appreciate everything you’ve done. You were a great member-,”

“Were? _Were_ -,”

“But you know we can’t bring you back in. Not if you’re not functioning one hundred percent. It’s not just for your safety; it’s for everyone else’s.”

“You don’t think I’m going to get better,” she says hotly, wishing with all her heart she could sit up straighter, “You’ve-,”

“Cass,” Babs interrupts, trying to intervene, soothing. Cassie ignores her, too heated to stop.

“Just because Nightwing is in charge of the team doesn’t mean-,”

“This isn’t my decision, Cassie,” Tim says firmly, “but I would have made it, too. Listen…I know this is hard, but you have to figure out what your life is outside of the League. You can’t let it be the thing that defines you.”

“But I’m a _hero,_ ” she shouts, “that’s what I do! I-,”

“I’m sorry,” Tim says, “We’ll do everything we can to help you. But you can’t fight with us, Cassie. It’s not possible.”

_I can’t believe this._

She looks down at her sheets for a moment, trying to gather her thoughts, and realizes Babs is holding her hand. _I can’t even hold it back,_ she thinks, the realization hitting her like a sucker punch.

“You should go,” Babs says quietly. Not angry or threatening, just…there.

That, more than anything else, scares her. It means he’s right. It means that Babs can recognize that Cassie isn’t in any shape to be fighting, or even thinking about it in the near future. It means that she thinks Cassie can’t get back, too.

“Okay. Good luck,” Tim says, softer, looking for all the world as sorry as he says he is. He leaves, closing the door behind him, and Cassie stares at the half-finished tray of food suspended over her lap.

“Cass-,”

“Not now. Just- I can’t. Please.”

Babs nods, taking the tray, and leans down to kiss her forehead. She slips out of the room, shutting the door quietly. Cassie lies in bed, staring at the ceiling, willing herself to cry. To scream. All she can do is lie there and look.

_I’ll get better. I will._

-

“We’re going to move you to a spinal rehabilitation center,” Dr. Ansar says, flipping papers on her clipboard, “You’ll be staying in a private room. A personal trainer will work with you; you’ll have a schedule and specific regimen. We’re hoping this may give you…a chance to try.”

The doctor looks at Cassie’s mother, communicating something through closed mouth. _She doesn’t think I’ll get better,_ she realizes, _just like everyone else._

The fact that people aren’t supporting her doesn’t surprise her. It also won’t stop her. If she needed someone to lean on, she wouldn’t be a hero. It’s only recently that she started to let herself be part of a relationship- with Babs- and even that had taken some work. At first it had been more like an extended idea of teamwork, working out together and spending time around each other.

Their relationship had actually started, she thinks, when Babs had injured herself during a fight. It had been a sprained ankle; nothing big, certainly nothing she hadn’t seen before. Cassie had been frenzied the first few hours, trying to be helpful and close and do everything for her. Eventually, Babs had sent her away, amused but in need of space. When Cassie finally had time to think, she had realized just how much it had stressed her to see Babs injured. There were emotions tied up between them now; dependency was more, she’d learned, than physically leaning on one another.

 _Oh, god,_ she thinks, _Babs._ She can’t even imagine how her girlfriend is feeling. Babs hasn’t shown any signs of breaking, the same stable presence she’s always been to Cassie. She hasn’t cried or yelled or looked exhausted- and she must be, Cassie realizes, if she keeps coming between the hospital and headquarters.

“…will be coming in at seven to help move you,” Dr. Ansar says, voice catching Cassie’s attention again, “Your mother will help arrange for some of your things to be moved to the center.”

“Where is it?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Where’s the center?” _I have to be close,_ she thinks, _just in case. Close to the others._

“It’s at the edge of the city,” the doctor says, “and it has its own park. I’m told the facilities are very uplifting. They help foster a positive attitude.”

She couldn’t care less about parks and attitudes. She’s more interested in being close to her team. Close to Babs.

Not that she doesn’t think Babs would visit her in another state. _She’d fly across the ocean, as often as she could,_ Cassie thinks fondly. It’s just lucky she won’t have to.

-

“Angel,” he says, smiling, hands in the pockets of his jeans.

Angel Romero is young; twenty-something and attractive, his long hair braided away from his face. His skin is a deep brown, golden from the sun and perfectly clear. She thinks he looks like what Jaime might in ten years.

Except Jaime might be flustered and floundering if he were in the room. Angel is just…an angel.

“Cassie,” she says, wishing she could shake his hand. She doesn’t know him yet. Handshakes can convey a lot- strength and power. She had always liked the way her handshake could betray her strength, subtly giving another person a taste of her power. Making them think twice about demeaning her.

“Cassie. Good to meet you. I’m going to be your trainer, all right? We’re partners in this.”

“Really? Does that mean you get to lie in a bed, too?”

She isn’t mean when she asks. It’s more of a joke to put them both at ease- or a test. If he doesn’t respond in a way she thinks is acceptable, she may find it harder to work to get better.

Not impossible, though. Never impossible.

“No,” he laughs, “that would be great, though. Getting paid to lie in bed.”

“I’m not getting paid.”

“Tell you what- if you want, we can make milestones. I’ll smuggle in some contraband if you meet them. You know- Snickers and Ben and Jerry’s.”

“I don’t need bribes,” Cassie grins, glad that he’s willing to joke, “but thanks. When do we get started?”

Angel sits in a chair at her side, leaning down with his arms on his legs. Getting down to her level. It’s a good sign, she thinks- he’s aware of what might make her anxious. _Not that I freak out when people talk over me,_ she thinks. It just feels…a little too close to lying in a coffin.

“Well, your doctor sent your file over. The specialists here will review it and figure out a plan of action. After that, we’ll start physical therapy.”

“That easy, huh?”

“Yes and no,” Angel says, serious, “Success is never immediate. Don’t expect it. Pushing yourself is fine, but only until the point that you start hurting yourself again. We want you to get better, not worse.”

“I think my…um…threshold is higher than most people’s,” Cassie tries, wondering just how much these new doctors know. _I should have asked the League how much I can say._

Part of her doesn’t want to, though. She doesn’t want help from the people who have written her off. She wants to prove them wrong and go back, strong as ever, ready to be part of the team again. _I’ll have to ask Babs to send my bracelets,_ she thinks, looking at her bare wrists.

“Some people think that,” Angel agrees, smiling, “I thought you might be one of them. Just remember that you’re human. You may be a stronger human than most but that doesn’t make you invulnerable.”

 _That’s what you think._ She may not be invulnerable, but she thinks she’s certainly hardier than anyone who has ever walked- or been wheeled- through the doors before. There’s really only one way to prove herself, though. She has to work harder, faster- she has to get better.

“Okay,” she says, “Sounds good. Let’s do this.”

-

She’s on a mission and all she can think about in the jet is how Cassie had looked in bed, defiant, somehow believing that she could move again.

Barbara knows it won’t happen.

She wants it to; has desperately combed the ends of the internet and textbooks for one case- just _one_ \- to prove that Cassie could make it. Could have that one percent success story. She just can’t find it. There’s no way- no way to come back from this kind of traumatic injury, this immediate loss of control and sensation. There are days that things might change, that feeling might burst in small sparks and odd places, but there is no regeneration for a spinal cord that’s been crushed.

Cassie is lucky to be alive at all.

When they get back to headquarters, Tim holds her back in the conference room.

“Are you okay?”

“What? I’m fine,” she says, surprised. _Why would I not be?_

“Babs…Cassie’s- hurt. She won’t be the same, ever. That’s not something you can just take in stride. You know that.”

“You’re right, I do,” she says, feeling a spark of indignation. She tamps it down, remind herself that he’s only trying to help. “Look- I know she’s…in denial, right now. She thinks that working hard can get her back to normal. That doesn’t mean she can’t learn how to live with it.”

“I’m not talking about Cassie. I’m talking about you.”

“I’m not hurt, Tim.”

“Yes, you are. Look me in the eye and tell me this is fine.” He waits, watching her.

 _Of course it’s not fine,_ she wants to say. Her girlfriend is almost completely paralyzed, stuck in a recovery center where she’s only going to realize that recovery isn’t possible. She will go through depression, anger- all the ugly stages of trying to accept her injury is permanent.

She may not even want Barbara around after it’s all over.

“I have to be strong for her,” she says, angry at the way her voice cracks and betrays her, “I have to. She’s never known anything else. This is what she _loved_.”

“I think she loves you,” Tim says quietly, “and losing you won’t help her now. Just- I know we’re trained to think and act one way. It may help us as heroes, but it never will as people. Tucking your pain away won’t keep anyone safe. It’ll only hurt you.”

“I can’t fall apart in front of her. Not now.”

“Then do it around me,” he says, “or us. We’re a team- but we’re more than that. We’re family. We’re here for you just as much as we’re here for Cassie. Okay?”

She pulls him into a hug, quickly, before he can protest. It feels better than she had hoped. _Family,_ she thinks. The ‘bat kids’. Dysfunctional, sure- but effective all the same. And somehow, able to help each other.

Even Tim, who is a little less outgoing than some of them. She laughs a little, realizing she’s crying. The stress seems to be leaking out from her eyes.

“Thanks. I know none of us really say it often enough, but- I love you. I’m glad you’re here.”

“Yeah. Me too. I’m glad I’m here, I mean,” he says, deadpan, “not the other part. You cried on my suit.”

If she pretends her tears are from laughter, he doesn’t say anything.

-

“Okay. I’m going to slowly move your arms and legs, okay? Any time you’re not comfortable, you let me know.”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” Cassie says, preparing herself. She cranes her head up as much as possible, watching Angel take her left leg in his hands.

“What we’re doing now are simple mobility exercises,” he explains, “they help keep muscles from wasting away. They can also sometimes help promote strength, if possible.”

 _Like riding a bicycle,_ she thinks. Except one leg at a time, while lying on a bed. She can feel a slight buzz, everywhere beneath the neck. It’s like the feeling you get when your foot falls asleep. The only word she can think for it is _dead_ , but that’s not pleasant and she knows her limbs aren’t technically dead. They’re just…there.

“How will I know if I’m getting strength back? If I can move on my own?”

“ _If_ ,” Angel says, stressing the word carefully, “you may see small responses to conscious attempts to do something.”

“Wiggle your big toe,” she mutters.

“Right,” he smirks, “wiggle your big toe.”

-

It’s been a week. Babs shows up, just-showered, cheeks still red from whatever mission and fight she’s had. Cassie sees her, propped up in bed. She’s surprised the front desk let her in- she has a session with Angel in three minutes.

“Hey,” Cassie beams, realizing how much she’d missed her.

“Hi,” Babs says, slipping into a chair beside her, “I’m sorry I couldn’t come sooner. We-,”

“It’s fine,” Cassie says quickly, not wanting to hear about their exploits. She’s not sure if she can handle hearing about the villain they fought or the success they had. Without her.

“The nurse told me you’re having a session in a bit.”

“Yeah. Angel- my partner- I mean, that’s what we call our therapists,” she explains, “Angel’s great. You’ll like him. He kinda reminds me of-,”

There’s a knock on the door and then it swings open, revealing the man in question. He barely skips a beat when he enters, smiling and holding his hand out to Babs.

“Hi. I’m Angel; I’m Cassie’s partner therapist.” When he turns away, Babs mouths _Jaime_ over his shoulder. Cassie snorts, biting back her giggles.

“Nice to meet you,” Babs says, “I’m Barbara.”

“I guess Cassie probably told you she has a session?”

“Yes,” she replies, turning to Cassie, “I can-,”

“No, no. Can- can she stay?” _Maybe this is what I need,_ she thinks. No success or feeling yet; maybe all she needs is a little more support, a little bit of her life to remind her what she’s working for.

“If it’s all right with you,” Angel says.

They run through a few exercises and Babs stays close, a hand gently laced in Cassie’s hair. She makes jokes, encouraging.

It doesn’t change anything.

She still can’t feel more than a mild tingle, her limbs stubbornly refusing to act on her conscious efforts. Angel reminds her to start small- _a finger, or a big toe, you know?_ – and leaves them to talk.

Cassie stares at her legs. Babs combs through her hair, careful and patient.

“I bought you a few more things,” she says, reaching down to pull a duffel bag onto the bed, “Some of your favorite workout clothes. I thought it would feel nice to have them.”

“Thanks.”

“Close your eyes.”

“…okay,” she says, amused. She closes them, waiting.

Something cold touches her skin. She almost withdraws. Instead she waits, wondering, realizing and hoping. Babs taps her cheek and she opens her eyes, already grinning. _My bracelets._ They rest on her wrists, cool and strong.

“Just remember- no matter what, you’re Wonder Girl,” Babs says, “and you’re my girlfriend. That won’t change.”

“Really? I’ve noticed a distinct lack of kisses lately,” Cassie teases, trying not to cry like an idiot. _I didn’t even ask her to bring anything. She just knew._

Babs smirks and leans down. Cassie watches her red-brown eyelashes, the way the light makes her hair turn into fire and copper. She is an angel of power, bright and vibrant. Something about her glows from within, beneath the skin- some kind of light that even Zeus couldn’t have given.

 _You are a goddess among women,_ she had said, Babs laughing and holding her shoes in her hands. They walked barefoot across the grass, tired and drunk on the night.

Her kiss is just as sweet as she remembers. Careful, like anything Babs ever does- as if every one of her actions affects the outcome of a vital mission. Her care feels like the kind of love that builds nations.

“Now we’re on the right track,” Cassie smiles, enjoying Babs’ breath on her cheek as they both laugh.

_Or at least, we’re getting there._

-

The doctor comes instead of Angel.

For a moment, she thinks the worst- maybe there’s been an accident, or Angel is the victim of some latest attack on the city. She thinks that first before realizing that normal things happen to normal people- scheduling errors, being late, family emergencies.

“Cassandra? I’m Dr. James,” the man says, looking over the top of his glasses. She’s uncomfortable just watching him do it.

“Cassie is fine,” she starts, wary, “Where’s-,”

“I’ve been keeping up with your sessions,” the doctor says by way of explanation. She’s not impressed with the way he cuts her off. “At this time, it seems we’ve exhausted the possibility of gaining control again. Of course, we did go into this knowing that a crushed spinal cord can’t recover; the damage done is fairly permanent.”

“It’s only been two weeks,” she says, feeling her throat start to close up. She swallows past it, determined. “isn’t that too short of a time to indicate failure?”

“…listen,” he says, “We went through therapy at the request of your doctor. You may certainly continue at home but I want you to understand that it’s- simply put, it probably won’t do much.”

She wants to squeeze the sheets. She wants to do something, anything, to funnel her anger and sorrow and terror. She wants to yell at him but she knows they’ll probably sedate her, call her mother- and then Babs would come. _I have to be strong._

“So, what now?”

“Now we’ll focus on mobility. There are things we can do- we have a specific wheelchair that functions using your breath. A mouthstick may help you type, use a cell phone…there are options. Angel will still be working with you, if that’s okay.”

She might say something at some point; she’s not sure. All she knows is that the doctor leaves and she is there, propped up, wishing she could scream. She is still staring at the wall when the door opens again.

“I told him it was a bad idea to explain it,” Angel says, arms crossed, “his bedside manner is the worst.”

“Yeah,” Cassie agrees, a little hollow.

“…why don’t I take you outside,” he says, turning suddenly to grab a wheelchair.

“Why-,”

“You need it,” he says firmly, pausing at her bedside, “May I?”

She nods numbly, letting him pull her useless body up and into the chair. She realizes she hasn’t seen the outside of the building- the park it supposedly has.

The communal area is bright, glass walls looking out into a lush, green paradise. She sees a man with prosthetic legs walking on a treadmill. A woman with one arm is lifting small weights, careful and even. She is torn between admiration and pain- _I want to do those things, too,_ she thinks.

Angel rolls her outside, walking down the long path. They eventually come to rest at the edge of the facility, the unpaved ground before them green and flat.

“Tell me if anything hurts,” he says, and then he pushes her further out.

They walk a mile past everything else, far enough that she can’t hear the sounds of the people at the facility. She is in between, facing the rest of the city, buildings glimmering in the distance. _I saved those people once,_ she thinks. _I thought I was going to again._

“Okay. Do it,” Angel says, leaning sideways to look at her.

“…what?”

“Scream,” he says simply.

She turns to stare at the city. It bubbles up in her throat, a rush of panic and anger and immense sadness. She opens her mouth, wishing she could lean the rest of her body forward, and screams. She screams as if Clayface is in front of her, as if Babs is in the path of a bullet, as if she is readying herself to charge. It explodes from her lips and she lets it carry until she runs out of breath, chest heaving.

“I needed that,” she breathes, suddenly feeling a million times more at ease. Not perfect yet, but less strained.

“I know,” he says. She can hear the smile in his voice. He turns and starts wheeling her back, quiet for a minute. “What’s with the bracelets?”

“…Babs reminded me I’m Wonder Girl,” she smiles, glancing up at him.

“Your girlfriend’s a keeper, then,” he winks.

_Yeah. She’s a keeper._

-

“We’ll make sure the pressure is right,” Angel says, hands on his hips as he watches the helpers adjust the straps and pieces on the wheelchair.

It looks a little monstrous, this contraption of leather and plastic and metal. _I hope it’s not too expensive,_ she thinks. The League might be helping out as much as possible but she’d hate for them to spend money on something that won’t be permanent. _He said I could exercise at home,_ she thinks, _and I know I just need more time._

“Okay,” Angel says, bringing her out of her mind, “mouth here. Gentle, all right? You’re going to have to learn how much pressure you need to do certain things. It’ll be a learning process.”

“Got it.”

She blows and jerks forward. Angel laughs, cautioning her again, and she snorts with him. _It doesn’t matter if I’m horrible at it,_ she thinks, adjusting the amount of air as she tries again. This time it works better, moving less startlingly than before.

“There we go,” Angel says, “that’s it. Now, let’s try this…”

-

The stick in her mouth is annoying. She watches her cell phone screen, annoyed, trying to land on the three. She misses and inevitably hits another number, the stick sliding and the menu pulling down automatically. She growls in frustration.

“You know, it may not be pretty, but using a phone with buttons makes it a lot easier.”

“I like my phone,” she says, letting the stick rest on her bottom lip, “and anyways, it’s not-,”

She stops before she says _permanent._

It’s been almost two months. Two months since the accident and she isn’t getting any better. There are even days when her feeling is almost completely gone- she wakes terrified, forcing herself to breathe and pace herself. Forcing herself not to freak out.

“Cass,” Babs says, kneeling next to her wheelchair, “don’t push yourself. Okay? You have to let it out sometimes. Don’t keep everything bottled up.”

“I know. I had a good scream the other day,” she jokes. It comes out more strained than she intended.

She gets through the rest of the session but it’s rougher than she’s used to. Babs has to leave, called away on a mission, a whispered apology and kiss left like ghosts on Cassie’s skin. Angel notices how much she’s struggling, quiet when he takes her back to the room. He sets her up carefully, turning off the bright overhead light. He pauses at her side before he leaves, one hand on her shoulder. She can barely feel the shadow of it.

“Everyone breaks at some time,” he says, “it doesn’t make you any better or worse.”

He locks the door behind him, slipping out as she tries to keep her tears at bay.

She knows how much time she has. An hour or two before a nurse checks in. Angel will probably delay them. _Time for the redness to go away,_ she thinks numbly, and then the tears start to fall. It is the ugliest thing in the world, the way she breaks down and sobs at the ceiling. She knows she must look like a sad story, a young woman confined in her own body.

All she wants is to hit things. Lift weights with Babs. _Run_ with her girlfriend again, chase her when the snow gets high and they have snowball fights with the team. She wants to be able to pull a friend up when they’ve fallen, knowing her strength is supportive and sure.

She wants so much she can’t have. It burns in her chest, reminding her there’s nothing she can do anymore for them. For herself, even. She can barely get around, bumping into things and hitting a thousand buttons on the pretty phone she can no longer swipe a finger against. She can’t stick earbuds in to drown out the world, can’t climb out of bed to go eat or use the bathroom on her own.

All she can do is lie in bed, wishing she had all the things she used to take for granted before.


	3. The Return

Her mother brings her to the house, which is thankfully only one story. It’s a wide structure, with open hallways and rooms. She wishes she could be thankful for her mother’s love of open spaces and minimal architecture. Instead all she thinks of is how she’ll have to worry about stairs for the rest of her life, or doors that aren’t wide enough for her.

_Taking up space._

“I’m making dinner tonight,” her mom says, holding the front door open, “Do you want to watch a movie while you wait?”

“I’d rather be in my room,” she says quietly.

“…okay.”

She allows it for now but Cassie knows her mom will be after her in a few days, pulling her into things she won’t want to do. She enjoys the solitude for now, grateful her room is easy to get into on her own.

There are pictures on the wall. Some of them are from school- girls from class, people she’d been more of acquaintances than friends with. She wonders if they know. Realizes, with heavy dread, that she’ll have to face them at some point. _Like this._

Her own face smiles at her from the collage. There are pictures of the team, too- a getaway they’d gone on last summer, to build teamwork and take a break. Jaime looking shocked in one as Bart jumps on his shoulders. Tim and Babs making a giant heart with their arms, Babs laughing and Tim trying to look disinterested. A bunch of daises, Cassie’s hands reaching for them as Babs takes a picture. All of them wearing flower crowns, Bart the most excited out of all of them.

 _Don’t cry,_ she tells herself, forcing her eyes away from the images. She almost wants to take them down or cover them up but she can’t bring herself to ask her mother to. They’re painful enough reminders of what she used to have.

The gym bag in the corner. Her trainers, resting against the wall. Multicolored ponytail holders, scattered on the small table in front of her mirror. A yoga ball instead of a chair; she used to love bouncing on it. Babs had stopped her once, laughing, and Cassie had stolen a kiss in the moment of stillness.

That’s all gone now. All she has is her mind, racing too fast for a body that can’t do anything to accommodate it. Her head and her imagination, reminding her of all the things she’s missing.

-

“We should be getting you ready for school,” her mother says, pointing a spoon at her, “I already contacted them and you’ll have a space near the door in the classroom. Everything should be wide enough and accessible.”

“School?”

She hadn’t really thought about it. She thinks about the gym, the athletes running around the campus in the morning. Seeing everyone walk around her, perfectly fine and whole.

“Of course. You’ll have Barbara in some classes, of course- they’ll make sure you get notes for everything you need.”

“Is- I mean, is this a good idea, mom? I’m just going to take up too much space and-,”

“You aren’t taking up space,” she says firmly, “You’re not the only kid in the world in a wheelchair, Cassie. You know that.”

“No- but I won’t be able to play soccer, or go to the bathroom without making a huge scene, or-,”

“The bathroom? Cassie, honey- none of that is important. What matters is that you can _still_ go to school. There’s nothing stopping you. You’re going to graduate. You _can_.”

She can’t bring herself to argue. There’s really no point. All she wants to do is go to bed. At least when she sleeps, she can dream of fighting. Of running and punching and leaping. In her dreams, she can do what she can’t in life. It gives her the smallest bit of comfort, even if it hurts like hell when she wakes up and can’t do anything.

It makes her want to say in bed, sleeping for most of the day, staying in a world where she can do the things she wants.

-

Babs stops by early in the morning. Cassie is barely waking up when she comes in, wearing black leggings and an oversized tank top. Her red hair is pulled into a messy bun, strands too short falling around her face. At first, Cassie thinks it’s just another dream.

“You’re getting lazy,” Babs grins, bright and so very _alive_.

“Babs- what are you doing here?” her eyes widen and she instinctively tries to scoot up in bed, pull the covers over her motionless legs. Babs swipes a hair behind her ear, at ease, as if she doesn’t notice Cassie’s worry. Or she’s just pretending not to.

“I came to see you, obviously. Come on, let’s get you out of your pajamas. I bought breakfast.”

“Wait-,”

“What?” Babs pauses, a hand resting on the sheets.

“I…I don’t…” _I don’t want you to see me like this._ She knows she looks mostly the same, for now. Over time, though…all the muscle mass will lessen, everything that used to make her strong visibly dissolving.

She’s been wearing sweatpants lately. She can’t stand looking at herself; her mother plays along, if only for the moment.

“Come on, Cass. You remember when you used to say you wanted to look like Starfire?”

“Used to?” she laughs, the sound only a pretense.

“She’s a Tamaranean, Cass. She’s not _human._ You can’t hope to do something that’s just not within your capabilities.”

Cassie waits. She’s not sure where Babs is going with this.

“You’re human,” Babs sighs, shaking her head and unfolding a shirt, “don’t be ashamed of that.”

-

She arrives like clockwork. It’s not far from headquarters, so she gets up an extra hour early and goes to bed an hour early, too. She makes the time to get to Cassie’s, knowing how important it is. Cassie has fallen into the rut. Depression is making its way into her heart and Babs can see its roots spreading, grabbing hold of every crack in her girlfriend’s heart. She hates it.

So, she wakes up and goes to Cassie’s house to help her get dressed. She goes with determination, already having memorized the physical therapy.

“Come on,” she encourages, helping Cassie move her leg, “Let’s see those beautiful legs.”

She smiles and helps even while Cassie stares at the stars on her ceiling, still glowing faintly green. Even when Cassie seems to ignore her, locked in her mind or in some struggle with her outlook. She is always in the grip of some silent battle against herself- against the bleak guest invading her mind.

“Why are you doing this? It won’t help.”

“Of course it will. If you aren’t moving, your legs will atrophy. You’ll have more problems than you do now. Just because you aren’t working out the same way doesn’t mean you can stop.”

She says it in a no-nonsense tone that brooks no argument. _I want her to know I’m here,_ she thinks as Cassie follows her from the bedroom. She makes a point, always, of taking off her shoes when she gets there.

They’d always been ready to go at headquarters. Uniforms ready, shoes on so they could sprint to the jet if necessary. She takes her shoes off, even if Cassie doesn’t seem to notice, because she knows her girlfriend might, some day. Cassie might notice and she wants her to think _I’m not in a rush, not to go anywhere or to do anything_. She will be at Cassie’s as long as she thinks she needs to be.

The others are understanding. Her team knows that Cassie needs her now more than ever. They try to be supportive- Jaime makes sure there’s food for Babs at night; Bart makes her bed when she forgets. Tim is always there to listen after a hard day, or just allow Babs to hug him, pretending to grumble or act awkwardly, as if nothing is wrong.

Jaime comes with her one afternoon. He brings soup.

Babs is freshly showered, back from a mission and wanting to spend time with Cassie. She thinks she’s seeing a plateau- Cassie isn’t getting better but she isn’t getting worse. It means that maybe, just maybe, she can start getting better, soon.

“Hey, Cass. Jaime’s here with me,” she says, knocking on the door. She waits, holding her breath.

“…come in,” Cassie says, sounding half-scared.

The room is dark, so she turns on a light. She kisses Cassie briefly, hands in the pockets of her black hoodie. Jaime comes in.

He smiles as if this is the way things have always been. He doesn’t look at Cassie’s arms or legs, thinner than they used to be, lying against the black leather of her wheelchair. He looks into her eyes, his own crinkled at the corners, and talks without trying to bend down to her level.

“Hey, girl. Ready for school in two weeks?” It’s so wonderfully, painfully normal. She almost wants to cry- she thinks Cassie might, too.

“…yeah,” Cassie manages, the word partially strangled from a breath she must have been holding, “But English is gonna suck.”

Jaime laughs and talks about Bart being annoying and how he tried to visit her at the clinic one day, turned away because she had a session- _Your trainer, oh my- did you see his arms????_ He tells her how lucky she is Babs will be taking notes for her; he can never understand his own handwriting and he’s terrible at Biology, he’s more of an English guy. He shows her the soup, explaining how it’s his _abuela’s_ magic recipe.

“Just one bowl and you’ll feel angels embracing you,” he says dramatically, hands spread towards the sky.

Cassie laughs, sounding just a tiny bit more like herself, and Babs really does almost cry. She hides it with the soup, sniffling and laughing and asking Jaime just how many peppers he put in.

When they leave, Cassie looks somehow happier than she did before. Babs shakes her head, realizing her stupid mistake.

 _You can’t rely on one person alone,_ she reminds herself, throwing an arm over Jaime as he chatters about how Bart probably set up a prank while they were gone and he’s nervous to even open his bedroom door.

_It takes a village. Or, in this case, a team._

-

“I’m a dick.”

“Actually, you’re a Tim,” Cassie says, raising an eyebrow.

Tim sighs, combing his hair away from his forehead. He looks taller. She wonders how much she’s missed- if Bart is taller, too. She doubts it. Still, sometimes they forget they’re still kids. They’re all still changing so much.

“I probably could have been…not nicer, just…more…”

“Tactful?”

“Yeah,” he sighs, “I just- I had to pass it on. I thought I was doing something important. I was really just being a jerk.”

Cassie nods. He stands in the living room, hands in his red hoodie. She almost laughs at that. _We all own these colored jackets that correspond to our costumes,_ she thinks, _imagine when the conspiracy sites start to pop up…_

Except she won’t really be on them. Not in her state.

She tilts her head, squinting up at Tim.

“Make me a sandwich.”

“…what?”

Babs is stifling her laughter in the corner. Cassie can tell. She ignores her girlfriend, staring at Tim unwaveringly.

“I’m kind of hungry and I’m pretty sure I couldn’t make a sandwich if I tried,” she says, deadpan, “so make me one.” _That’s your punishment,_ she doesn’t say. He gets it anyways.

He even smiles a little bit, nodding as he walks over to the kitchen. Babs raises her eyebrow at Cassie. _Really?_

“Add mustard!” she yells after him, wiggling her eyebrows back at Babs. _Really._

-

Her mother asks if she wants to put on makeup.

“Why?”

“Come on. It’ll be good for you to look nice every once in a while.”

“I don’t look nice now?”

“Don’t be a smartass, Cassandra.”

They’re both smiling. Cassie lets her mother set up, careful, a sponge and tubes spread out on the tabletop. She takes her time, careful. Cassie directs her mother sometimes, asking for less powder or more eyeliner. Eventually they get it right- or close enough, at least. She looks at her face in the mirror, relatively pleased.

The doorbell rings.

She frowns, wondering if it’s Bart. She’s not sure she can handle his energy this late in the day, but she misses him. His vibrancy. Her mother goes to answer the door, voice low. Cassie tries to tilt her head and see past her doorway.

Instead, she is surprised by Babs.

_Wow._

She’s wearing a black dress, two twisted waves of hair keeping the rest of it away from her face. Her leather jacket is just too big for her, beaten and worn in a way that is perfectly imperfect.

“Babs?”

“Hey, Cass. Wanna go out?”

“...I thought we were,” she says, laughing, suddenly nervous. She knows what Babs is asking. It makes sense, of course, what with her mom helping her get ready. _I’m still stuck in this chair, though. Still like this._

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Babs says, kneeling at her side, “we can stay in.”

“No,” she says, surprising herself, “we can go.”

Cassie’s mom gives Babs the keys to the car, reminding them both to be safe, and they leave. She spends the first few minutes inside her head, wondering and worrying and playing through every possible scenario. _What if they don’t have a ramp? What if I don’t fit through the door?_ Panic rises in her throat and she worries, despite her desire to try, that it will fail terribly.

“Babs-,”

“I hope you don’t mind that I picked,” her girlfriend says, smiling, “I know you like Thai, though. It’s a nice restaurant. They have really neat double doors that are carved.”

_Double doors._

Cassie laughs, relieved and overwhelmed. Of course, Babs would look into it. Of course, she’d inspect every possibility, making sure there was room and the tables were spaced right. Letting the staff know ahead of time. She probably even asked for a reservation, making sure there would be a good spot for them.

So Cassie wouldn’t have to worry about anything.

“I’m so lucky,” she says, staring at Babs’ barely-visible freckles. _I’m so lucky to have you._

The food is great and as expected, the chair is already moved when they get there. She moves into place easily, noticing they’re at the edge of the seating area but still in the middle. A part of the restaurant but still in a convenient position. No one stares- thankfully- even though she knows there will be times that people will.

For now, she enjoys dinner with her girlfriend. They roam the mall afterwards, Babs walking at an even pace and Cassie listening to stories about what the boys get up to between missions. Everything seems to fit into place, natural in way she hadn’t even dared to hope.

Natural, despite what they both know about what she used to be. Somehow, though, the past isn’t as important as her present. The moment she’s living in, with Babs pushing her beautiful hair over one shoulder, bright blue eyes sparkling like something more precious than sapphire.

Now, she has all she really needs.

-

“Wow, Bart, did you clean?” Cassie asks drily. It hides her nervousness and excitement. It’s the first time she’s been back at base since they left that day. It feels like an old glove, fitting comfortably in a way she hadn’t expected.

“It only takes me a minute,” he protests, zipping to the kitchen, “when I do it!”

Tim is at his computer, legs crossed on the seat of his chair. He waves absentmindedly at her as she enters, eyes glued to the screen. _Same as always,_ she thinks, glad. It feels like everything has been in suspended animation- the same way she left it, everyone acting almost as if they’re picking up where they left off. Almost.

They’re one week into school. She studies at base a lot, spending time around the others as much as possible. It feels good to be included- even if sometimes, they get called away and she is left in an empty base that feels a little too hollow.

She wonders if this is how it feels, to be a parent or sibling to a hero. If this is what her mother had felt like, not knowing when or if Cassie would return. She almost cries one evening when they’re later than usual, wishing she could grip the armrests on her chair if only to have something to cling to.

When they’d returned, they were more tired and beaten than ever before. Babs had let her sleep in her room, too tired to say anything but understanding Cassie needed her close.

It was terrifying. She hates it with every inch of her body. She hates being a passive audience, watching and waiting, knowing what it is they’re going through but being unable to do anything about it. All she can do is be there, in an empty base, listening to the computer ping their location.

-

“I hate it.”

Barbara sits on the edge of the bed, trying to keep her expression neutral. She can feel things slipping- is worried that this is a backwards slide. A mistake. _We shouldn’t have brought her back so soon. If at all._

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t like not being able to help. I have to help-,”

“Cass…,”

“You made a control system, right? What if I used it?”

She bites her lip. _Sure, it could work- but it could also be a huge mistake._ She’d though about it before. When Cassie’s diagnosis was solid, she’d considered giving her the hope of helping as a coordinator. She hadn’t wanted to at first, though, knowing that Cassie had to be in a stable place to consider it at all.

So now that she is, apparently, she has realized it on her own.

“I could try setting up voice software,” she admits, “but I don’t know how well it would work.”

“That’s fine,” Cassie says, “just as long as we try. Think about it- having a computer is great, but this way, you could have an actual human helping out. I would be able to open up building plans, do other things- you know, provide you with a godlike kind of assistance,” she laughs.

“Great. The last thing _you_ need is a god complex,” Babs pretends to groan, already pulling her laptop out. _This could help. It could really, actually help._ Not just Cassie but the team, too.

She’s right about having a person supplement the team. It would be beneficial to have an autonomous entity doing research and planning when they’re on missions. Someone to open doors, as it is. _It could work._

She sets the installation up, watching the bar crawl along. If it helps- and she prays that it does- it means Cassie can be part of the team again. Part, despite not being exactly the same as before or as anyone else in the League. She’ll be proving everyone wrong, in her mind, and that is really what she needs. She’s stubborn. Unyielding.

It’s what Barbara loves about her.

-

“He’s shutting the doors in front of you. Running override,” Cassie says, eyes flicking over the screen.

There are two straws, now. One of them is set up to her wheelchair. The other one is special- Babs installed it after she’d set up the voice recognition for the computer system. It helps her switch the system between commands and communication.

“ _Thanks, Prophet,_ ” Jaime says. She watches his tracker come to a halt at the door just as she opens it.

It’s their first run using her as a coordinator. They’d fought to even have the chance. At first, Batman had been the most vocal about potential problems.

 _Computers can be hacked,_ he’d said. Babs had been quick to respond, pointing out the myriad of other computers in the League. _Besides,_ she’d said, _if they hack the computer, she can shut it down. That wouldn’t happen if it were just on, by itself._

The argument had gone on, discussed and rehashed a thousand times over. Eventually, they had agreed to a field test. A small mission, somewhere outside intervention would be helpful. The team is chasing a scientist on the run, the small facility equipped with multiple traps and security.

“Someone’s trying to take off,” Cassie says quickly, “hijacking systems now. Catch them at the gate.”

“ _On my way,_ ” Babs says, her tracker splintering from the group.

Cassie switches to commands, speaking clearly to the computer.

“Hack onboard flight system. Initiate emergency landing. Lock all controls. Override command input.”

The computer works quickly and she turns her attention to the compound, a list of security systems flying over the screen.

“Reorder by proximity to team. Disable in order of range, closest to furthest.” It’s a personal touch. She knows they can handle distance attacks; they’re easy enough to dodge and disable. It’s the immediate ones- sliding floors and rising spikes- that can hurt them.

 _A computer wouldn’t have been that specific,_ she thinks, triumphant.

“ _Runaway down,_ ” Babs says over comms, a little out of breath, “ _Team?_ ”

“ _Meet us at target,_ ” Tim says, “ _approach from the east._ ”

“Team- I’m reading heat signatures in the main hall, either side of the door. Be careful when approaching; it may be a trap.”

“ _Smokescreen,_ ” Bart suggests, cheeky even through the comm. She can almost see Tim nodding in agreement, tossing the younger boy a tiny grenade.

She feels immeasurably proud of them- and herself, too. They’re functioning like a well-oiled machine, working in tandem to reach the goal. She knows the mission would be harder without her; they would have been caught up in the traps, slowed down enough to probably allow the getaway to leave the compound.

Instead, their mission clock is low and there have been no injuries or setbacks. It’s almost perfect. She feels like she’s really in the team again, contributing and helping almost the same as he had before. _Except I’m sitting behind a computer, which I never thought I would do._

The team closes the mission within an hour and a half, rounding up the scientists and disabling everything with Cassie’s help. She waits for them to get back, excited, and is greeted by Bart when he speeds through the doors before everyone else.

“Man, that was _awesome_!” he cries, almost jumping up and down in excitement, “Plus you’ve got a freaking _cool_ code name, now. It’s both great and creepy that you’re basically watching our every move!”

“That’s me, great and creepy,” she snorts. She’s smiling from ear to ear.

“Good job, team,” Tim says, “that was good work.”

“You did great,” Babs says, bending down for a kiss. Bart pretends to gag as he whizzes by, but it’s just for show. Cassie sighs happily, looking back up at the enormous screen.

 _I helped do that,_ she thinks, feeling pride rise in her chest. _Me._

-

She gets commendations from her teachers, apparently, for being so engaged in class. Her mother leaves the envelopes on the table, just propped open so that Cassie can use the mouthstick to open the paper and read it.

She is setting an example.

Most of her time in the evening, when it’s not spent coordinating, is spent using Babs’ voice software to write posts. She has a blog, now, detailing everything she’s gone through so far. Pictures and words and stories about her denial, depression, and the friends that helped drag her out of it. Her girlfriend, who she knows probably had her own private battles to fight throughout the whole ordeal.

She likes making her voice heard. Now, more than ever, she understands how important it is. There are few things in life that have been left to her when it comes to mobility and control but she’s not useless. She is no longer trapped in her body; she knows her limits and her abilities and that it’s okay to ask for help. It’s okay when people stare at restaurants because Babs rants about them later and Cassie likes to see her get angry on her behalf, even if they both don’t care what other people think.

She is part of the team again. She is part of the League, still a hero- just a different kind of hero.

She speaks, writing something she’ll never post and never save.

“I’m the one behind the scenes. I am the one with a constant eye on all of them. I am the voice in their ears, telling them where to go and when to stop and what to watch out for. I am the mind, calculating and making decisions, commanding the systems and computers to do everything they can to help them.

“I am a friend and a girlfriend and a student and a daughter. I am full of determination and hope and joy and the knowledge that my body does not make me who I am. I am not just who I love or even what I love. I am also who loves me and how they love me and why.

“I am paraplegic. I am a former superhero and a current superhero, a former strong woman and a current strong woman. I am blonde and the child of a single parent and I hate pineapple, so I give it to my girlfriend when she orders pizza that’s pepperoni and pineapple.

“I am Cassandra Sandsmark and Wonder Girl and Prophet, and I am a member of the Justice League. I am a superhero and a teenage girl. I am anything I want to be.”

“Damn straight,” Babs says, curled on the bed with her, holding Cassie’s hand at her chest. It feels just a little warmer than the rest of her body and Cassie smiles, looking down at her. “You are amazing, Cassandra Sandsmark, and I love you. Don’t forget that.”

“I love you,” Cassie says, “but I haven’t had a kiss in a while.”

Babs laughs, red hair falling messily over her face when she rolls over. Cassie counts her freckles, watching blue eyes close, and then she leans into the kiss.

_Being together always feels better when you love yourself as much as you love each other._


End file.
